by Nick Gisburne
I grew the tiny fairy folk from eggs
With magic milk, my special DNA
The snuggles of my incubating legs
Essential to the cracking time: today
A dozen heads, astonishingly shaped
Were keen to know the manner of their birth
In tears of disappointment, they escaped
And hid among the spiders of the earth
A dram of daisy whisky drew them out
And riding on the backs of silver snakes
In tipsy tantrums all began to shout
Until my tizzy turned them into cakes
Be warned of the ingratitude they gave
The Fey are not the family you crave
